My Nimlis headcanons
by Madame Reveuse
Summary: Yes, Nimlis means Nimrod/Iblis. Yes, this could get slashy. Yes, I probably need help. Rated T for implied slash and author's paranoia.
1. Headcanons

**Hello there and welcome to my... random CotL thing... **

**I recently thought, man, this place is pretty desolate. Let's flood it with random fictions of my own! And so I'll do. I'm gonna start you off with my headcanons about my two all-time favorite djinn. WARNING: this is implied slash. I'm gonna do one-shots or even larger stories about some of the things you're about to read, and some of these will have slash too. This fandom has been a pretty innocent corner of the internet, and I'm planning on changing this... ;)**

**I'm so excited! Will anyone read this?**

**I don't own the characters, btw. **

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**1.** Nimrod and Iblis have been mortal enemies for so long, making them so familiar with each others characters, methods, vices, weaknesses, etc. that they basically know everything about one another and thus interact like an old married couple, only that one half occasionally tries to kill the other. Happens in the best families, right...? Whenever they happen to meet it's like

"Oh hey Marid, how's life, stopped chewing your damn nails yet?"

"Well hello, Ifrit, stopped producing random sons yet?"

"Hey, _fuck you!_"

And _then_ they fight. And through some totally incomprehensible miracle, they both make it out alive.

**2.** Nimrod is technically bi/pansexual, meaning that he loves people for personality, not for gender. He has told only Layla about this; Iblis also happens to know.

**3.** Nimrod secretly hopes to set Iblis straight.

**4.** Because he loves him.

**5.** Yes, you read the two above right. Yes, I ship them. This says Nimlis for a reason. You can't say you haven't been warned.

**6.** Iblis knows the things above, but he chooses to ignore them. He doesn't want or know how to handle Nimrod's affection. Also he does not need help. At least that's what he thinks.

**7.** Iblis does it for the kicks.

**8.** Nimrod can't swim. He just never learned to.

**9.** Iblis hated his father.

**10.** Iblis loves his sons. He really does. He's also in a clinch with _all_ of their (wide variety of) mothers, so he raised most of them alone. The number of Ifritsons in my head varies from five to about nine? It's a whole lot of them, that's for sure.

**11.** Both are single. It was said in the books that Nimrod never married, and I guess given his personality, he's just pretty content with living a bachelor's life.

Rudyard and his bros must have come from somewhere, but no woman in Iblis' life is ever mentioned, so... he's probably Mr. Failed Relationships or something.

**12.** Nimrod collects ornate snuffboxes. And umbrellas, red ones. And all kinds of antique stuff.

**13.** Nimrod likes strawberry jam. A lot. He's really into it.

**14.** Iblis is one of the very few djinn who learned to cook for himself. And his sons. Mostly his sons. But also himself.

**15.** Both know how to play at least one instrument.

**16**. Iblis is really good in bed.

**17.** Iblis is secretly a hardened alcoholic. The way he drank that Brandy in part one? C'mon, it's so damn obvious.

**18.** Dybbuk is a result of the two points above. It's just my opinion, but he (Iblis) (or, like, just anyone) had to be smashed out of his mind to sleep with Jenny Sue there.

**19.** Iblis likes the neon lights in Vegas. He spends his nights on a casino roof looking down at them feeling like a god.

**20.** Iblis' ancestors invented Poker.

**21.** Iblis refers to Nimrod as "Marid". He barely ever uses his name. When he gives orders concerning Nimrod to his Ifrit, things go like

"Yeah, someone should totally keep tabs on what that damn Marid is doing."

"Um, sir, which one? You... know that there's... more than one Marid...?

"NOT TO ME THERE ISN'T"

**22.** The two of them meet up at Djinnverso tournaments in peace. They play and insult each other and have a great time.

**23.** Whenever he's _not_ plotting freak revenge on someone, Iblis actually _does do_ tribal leader duties. He helps young Ifrit kids through their Tammuz and stuff. And it's amazing.

**23.5** Yes, it is. Imagine: You're a young djinn, alone in the desert. Your guys have left you here with nothing but a dictionary (what do you even need that for?), a sleeping bag and that old lamp thing. You have no powers yet. You're frightened. You've heard rumors about the Tammuz from friends or older siblings, so you pick up the lamp and rub it... and then, _not_ wise old Mr. Rakshasas or Nimrod, who radiates goodwill like the sun radiates light, but... _this guy_ pops out.

"Oh hey there. You're that guy/girl, right? Great. I'm Iblis, tribal leader, you've probably heard stories. And I'm here tonight to tell you how the djinn came to be. Yaay. Can I get an encore in here?"

You: *slow clap*

"That'll do. Now listen up here, and I mean listen up, this stuff is very important. Cigarette?"

You'll probably take the cigarette, but you won't smoke it. You'll hang it in a frame on your bedroom wall to forever remember that awesome night where you met the World's Most Evil.

**24.** Nimrod secretly has a deep-rooted dislike against all Americans and everything that is American, but he keeps quiet about it to his family. He's just social that way.

**25.** Nimrod picks stray cats and puppies off the street and takes them to animal shelters. But he'd never adopt. He wouldn't like shed fur and nasty business all over his house. Also, Groanin would be appalled.

**26.** Nimrod loves the royal family, especially the Queen.

He's veeeeery patriotic.

**27.** It is not known to anyone but himself if Nimrod ever had sex.

**28.** Every year on his birthday, Nimrod will receive a "mysterious" phone call from Las Vegas, which he'll act very surprised about. Upon answering the phone, an evil voice will say: "I wish you an _un_happy birthday, Marid." Then the "mysterious stranger" will hang up.

Groanin has long stopped asking about these.

**29.** There should be an AU where Iblis is good and Nimrod is evil.

**30.** There should be an AU where both of them are women.

**31.** Or a combination thereof.

*sets to write*

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**Well, that was this! I hope you maybe got a little laugh out of these and didn't take them too seriously. They shouldn't be ;)**

**Btw, some of these could well have been disproven by the series. I would have no way of knowing because I stopped reading after part four, because my favorite character WENT AND DIED. I'll get all the books I've missed for my birthday in a few weeks, so I'll hopefully catch up soon. See you all for later chapters! :D**


	2. Birthday calls

**This chapter, or "Did I just write a 1600 word story about a guy calling another guy and both guys are characters in the most underrated book series ever" **

**Anyway, I said there would be oneshots, so here's a oneshot! I don't own any of the characters or the city of Las Vegas. (Would be so awesome if I did though. I swear I'll go to Vegas one day just to revel in Ifrit glory.)**

**Where does the name "Odair" come from? I made it up... it's a stupid name. I think a true son of Iblis deserves a really stupid name. "Rudyard" is a stupid name. "Dybbuk" is a stupid name. And now, there's "Odair". Enjoy!**

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For Nimrod a birthday wasn't complete without the surprise phonecall.

He couldn't remember the exact year in which it had started, but it had gone on ever since. It would mostly happen in the evening, sometimes earlier, sometimes at night, but never after midnight when it wasn't technically Nimrod's birthday anymore. He had developed a habit of staying up late on his birthday, not going to bed until the call came. It had become a little routine for his butler and him.

"Call from overseas, sir" Groanin would say, approaching Nimrod with the phone. In the first year of it, he had thought it to be his sister until Groanin had raised an eyebrow and added "Las Vegas".

"Oh!" Nimrod would exclaim, for all the world acting very surprised. "What could someone from there want from me?"

Groanin would answer with a shrug, year after year.

"Well, let's see" Nimrod would say and answer the phone. "Nimrod Godwin, what can I do for you?"

And an evil voice would drawl: "I wish you an _un_happy birthday, Marid."

And then the mysterious caller would hang up.

And Nimrod would spend the rest of the day having the happiest of birthdays, as usual.

The call had only startled him the first time. In the years after, he had been rather annoyed by it, but as time went by, he had come to accept it, and now he could barely imagine a birthday without it.

Groanin had long stopped asking about it.

Whenever the call came, Nimrod had already prepared himself to strike up a conversation with his mystery malefactor, but to no avail. The voice didn't want to chat. It delivered its message, then hung up. That was it. But it was the only form of communication he ever had with the enemy, so he made a point of always being at his house in London for the whole day and rarely inviting anyone over, even when he came to better terms with Layla and her family. They would only ask questions.

He began to make assumptions on what the caller was up to, going just by the sound of his voice. The call would always come from Vegas, no exceptions, and the voice would always be the same, male, soft, familiar. But there were small differences each year.

Most of the time, the voice just sounded mean, happy to toy with him, sometimes it added an evil laugh for good measure. Sometimes it sounded neutral, sometimes angry or at least unhappy, sometimes like the caller had just fallen out of bed. Different time zones, Nimrod supposed, or just a lazy Ifrit's lifestyle. Two or three times, the words had been so badly slurred that Nimrod had felt obliged to ask "Are you ok over there?". But he was hung up on, even then. He had spent a few minutes being genuinely worried, but the call came back next year, indicating that the enemy had not died of alcoholic poisoning.

Nimrod told himself that he was probably obsessing over unimportant detail here, but life proved him otherwise. He had once prevented an entire American city from being eradicated, going only by the alarming tone of the voice in his birthday message. No other Marid had quite seen to the bottom of that.

What also differed was the background noise. Sometimes it was quiet, sometimes he could hear muffled conversation and the sound of glasses clinking, sometimes it sounded like he – the voice – the _mystery_ voice – was calling him from a crowded casino. Once he had heard someone yell "HA! Royal flush!" in the background, and the voice – _his_ voice – had yelled back "Oh FUCK it!" before hanging up on him. But there wasn't much to be made from things like that.

* * *

Then one year, the call stopped coming.

* * *

Nimrod sternly told himself not to mess himself about. _Of course _he had known where the call had come from. And _of course_ he knew that it wasn't going to ever come again. You couldn't call anyone from a jade suit of armor. And it was better that way.

So all in all there was no reason – no reason whatsoever – to hang around waiting for the phone to ring.

It did ring once, and it did come from America, but it was New York, not Vegas, it was Layla congratulating.

He went to bed early, feeling miserable.

At a quarter to midnight, Groanin found him in the kitchen making himself a cup of tea. He hadn't found any sleep.

"I do say, sir. I searched the whole house for you and find you down here?"

"I couldn't have troubled you at this unholy time of night with my need for tea. Please go back to bed, Groanin."

"I would, sir, but there's a call for you from overseas." Groanin raised an eyebrow. "Las Vegas."

Nimrod, who had just come to terms with never going through this routine again, all but ripped the phone from Groanin's hand. "Yes?" he breathed into the receiver.

"I _still_ wish you an unhappy birthday, Marid" the same old voice said, and Nimrod had known each and every nuance of that voice for such a long time that his memory automatically supplied him with the fitting expression on Iblis' face as he had said it. Small smile, downcast eyes... yep, that was the one.

Then there was a click and the phone was hung up.

Nimrod stood frozen in his kitchen and just listened to his wildly beating heart for a few seconds. Then he said: "Groanin, I need to fly to Vegas."

"That's a new one, sir" the butler remarked.

* * *

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a good djinn in possession of a good survival instinct must watch his step in Vegas. But Nimrod felt like stepping down hard this time, so he just positioned himself in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard and waited for Ifrit activity.

He didn't have to wait more than half an hour until a young djinn approached him. He was the spitting image of Iblis, only younger – it took a close look to spot small differences such as the haircut, the lack of beard, a slightly more crooked nose. The young man also lacked the pinstriped suit that Nimrod had rarely seen Iblis without; he was wearing a simple black silk shirt, dress pants and no tie.

"You're Nimrod, right? Nimrod Godwin? I thought you'd show up around now." The Ifrit's stance was casual. He stayed a safe distance to Nimrod, but he did not attack.

"Odair Teer" he now introduced himself. "And I'll not harm you today."

"_I'd like to see you try"_ Nimrod thought. "You're Iblis' son, right?"

"Firstborn" Odair nodded.

"Oh, so you're soon to be reckoned with."

Odair's face said "Huh?"

"You're next in line for the Ifrit, aren't you?" Nimrod clarified.

Odair scrunched up his face in what looked like distaste. "Probably" he said. "My brothers and I are currently squabbling over who _doesn't _get to do it. Not very surprisingly, nobody wants Dad's job. We all know where it brought him."

Nimrod realized that the Ifrit's black attire probably meant he was in mourning. He cleared his throat. "Hmm. It might sound strange coming from me, but I'm sorry for your loss."

His opposite shrugged.

"I'm here because – "

"I know what you're here for." Odair took a cellphone out of his pocket. "My brothers and I are in the process of going through Dad's stuff. This is his private phone. And I mean private. No business stuff on here. But you know what _is_ on here?"

"I... have a good guess" Nimrod said.

"Yep, your little message. He set this phone to send this voicemail to you every year, same date, same time."

"By George" Nimrod whispered.

"Indeed" Odair said tiredly and ran a hand through his hair. For a second he looked remarkably like his father. "We – that is all the Ifritsons – are of the opinion that Dad lost it. He just kept raising the bar on himself until... an enantiodromia, holy shit, what was he thinking? That's why we didn't help – we just stole the jade. Only Rudyard helped, but he – well, he was just a stupid kid. Now look where they both ended up." He sighed. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I haven't quite gotten a grip on everything, I'm afraid."

He raised the cellphone. "Do you want this? We've erased all classified stuff." He tossed it to Nimrod, and Nimrod caught it.

"Now get the hell out of town, Marid. Truce is over."

"Farewell, Odair" Nimrod said to the Ifrit's retreating back.

* * *

Back at home, Nimrod invested a day in flicking through messages Iblis had written to his sons and ex-wives and a small but significant amount of random drunk texts. He found nothing of any relevance to the Marid. Iblis had kept business and private affairs strictly separated, or his sons had been very thorough in erasing the important stuff. Odair wanted him to see something, and it was not Ifrit affairs. The background picture showed Iblis and all his sons, a great big bunch of evil, rows of pearly white front teeth smiling into the camera.

He found his birthday message and listened again. Small smile, a little sadish, and downcast eyes. Iblis had _known_ or at least suspected that he wasn't going to get out of the whole Xian business alive, and he had made it a priority to tape this message.

Not even _death_ could stop Iblis from wishing Nimrod an unhappy birthday.

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**Well, this was incredibly corny and probably OOC, but oh well. I felt like it was just some totally ridiculous thing, Iblis "true evul biatch" would do... next chapter in a week or so.**


	3. Tammuz

**Ok you guys. It's dark AM. My birthday party is just ending. I'm tired, I'm pissed as a fish and slightly sick, but I'm uploading. My muse would be proud of me.**

**Iblis with two useless tiny wings on his back: *is muse* yaaay.**

**So, yeah. Here, have chapter. It's the Tammuz story thing. Read review and stuff. I own nothing.**

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Jamie was scared. Even though his family had told him not to be, he felt like he had every reason to.

He was alone in the desert, and it was getting dark. All kinds of creepy insects and stuff would probably soon emerge from the sand. He had seen a documentary on deserts once and knew that that was exactly what happened here at night. It was also getting cold. But the scariest thing was that he was _all alone_. Literally nobody anywhere near. If anything dangerous happened out here, there was nobody who could help him until morning. Until his family came back.

What had they been thinking anyway? The equipment they had left him with was the most useless stuff ever. The sleeping bag was the high end of things, but the antique lamp he had been given, while looking very djinn-like, gave no light at all. And what was he even supposed to do with the pencil, notebook and dictionary? On Jamie's list of survival tools for a night in the desert, a dictionary made no appearance at all.

He didn't see how spending a night in this absolute dump in pants-wetting fear was going to magically switch on his djinn powers by morning. But it had worked for his three older brothers, so he supposed something was going to have to happen.

He waited around for about an hour, but nothing supernatural occurred. He just suddenly remembered every horror story he had ever heard, until he was sure there were desert zombies or whatever creeping behind every dune.

_I could really use djinn powers right now_, he thought, _or better yet, a full-grown djinn to pop up and get me out of here_.

His look fell on the old lamp. _Wait... a... minute. What if...?_

Just to make sure he had tried everything, he picked the lamp up and rubbed it.

_Bingo_, the young Ifrit thought as a cloud of dark smoke built up in the air, soon taking on a human-shaped form. A few seconds later, another djinn was giving Jamie company.

"Wow, took you long enough" the guy, who was a complete stranger to Jamie, said. "So, you're... Jamie Al-Fayyit, right? That's a pretty hideous name, you know that?"

Jamie, awestruck, nodded.

"Well, anyway, hi there. I'm Iblis, tribal leader, bla bla, you've probably heard stories."

"A shit-ton of them, sir" Jamie said respectfully. He couldn't even voice his astonishment. Iblis motherfucking Teer, holy shit. It was almost like meeting _Satan_.

"Expect a lot of them to be made up" Iblis replied.

"So... the one with San Francisco and that earthquake, sir...?"

"Oh, that one's true."

"And the one about the volcano on that island?"

"That wasn't me, that was my father. His name was also Iblis, so whoever was telling the story might have gotten us confused."

"But the one in Cairo with that belly-dancer...?

"You mean my ex-wife?"

"And the one in Vegas with the stripper and the sticky tape and the salad prongs?" Jamie had heard this particular story while eavesdropping on his older brothers. Many parts of it would only begin to make sense to him years later.

"Um, I'm pretty sure I don't even want to know. It's most certainly made up; I just don't do prostitutes in Vegas. I'm not too keen on herpes. Anyway" the evil djinn went on. "Tonight is not about exchanging gruesome stories about strippers and whatnot. I am here tonight to tell you how the djinn came to be."

"That's... pretty kickass, sir, but how exactly will that help me gain my djinn powers?"

"Yeah, we'll get to that one too, Jamie Al-Fayyit... seriously, what were your parents even _thinking_..."

"I dunno, sir, what were _your_ parents thinking?"

"Ah... what?"

"As we've already established, I've heard stories about you" Jamie went on bravely. "I know what _Iblis_ means. And...seriously, who names their son _source of despair_? Were you an obnoxiously loud baby or something?"

"Way to press your luck, young djinn" Iblis said. "Actually, the name is inherited, but that's beside point. I'm here to tell you the djinn stuff, and I'll do that now, so listen up and I _mean listen_ because that stuff's really important. Cigarette?"

Jamie, who had never smoked before, accepted the cigarette with shaky fingers.

"Okay. So. In the beginning. Angels from light, humans from clay, djinn from fire. You may have already heard some of this."

Jamie nodded again.

"Well, someday or other for some obnoxious reason there was this great decision thingy. Angels, mundanes and djinn were forced to choose good or evil. Don't ask me why that was or who made them do that, I personally think the Marid made that story up to feel nice and righteous about themselves, but whatever. The angels chose mostly good, the mundanes mostly evil. The angels who turned to evil are called demons; you just hope you never meet one of those, I'm a picnic compared to them. The djinn, however, separated into six tribes. The ones who chose good were the Marid, the Jinn and the Jann. Don't be too worried about them though, they're just uptight asses who won't let anyone have any fun. The other three were the Ifrit, the Ghul and the Shaitan. The Ifrit, that's us, that's our big happy slightly dysfunctional family. The others are buddies. Any questions so far?"

"So... I'm evil? We're all evil?"

"Sort of yes. Sorry to break that to you, but yes, we're all kind of evil."

"But I don't feel... um... evil. I mean I don't feel like doing evil stuff like murdering someone or something."

"So how do you feel?"

"I dunno sir. Just like myself I guess."

"That's good then. Really! I know it's confusing at first. You don't feel like a bad person. You don't even want to be a bad person. But the whole being evil thing has its upsides. Just think of it as being free. You can do anything you'd like. You're not burdened by morale, conscience or the expectations of society. If some guy bugs you and you want to turn him into a cockroach, do. If you don't feel like doing anything, don't. We don't have to constantly worry about upholding the balance of happiness and rainbow sparkles in the world or whatever. We're so free, it's almost anarchy. Just please try not to defy me, I get grouchy when you do that."

"That... doesn't sound too bad, sir. Only... how do I turn guys into cockroaches?"

Iblis spent the rest of the night explaining to Jamie how he should use his djinn powers, and helping him pick a focus word. As it began to dawn, the young djinn had chosen one.

"I think your parents ought to be back in a few hours. They'll show you what you can do with that shiny new focus word of yours. By the way, did they or anyone else ever test your ability to influence luck?"

"I don't think so. How do you do that?"

"It's real simple. Here, take these." Iblis produced five dices out of nowhere and placed them in Jamie's hand. "Now throw."

Jamie threw. He scored two ones, two threes and a four.

"Oh. Looks like you're not very lucky right now."

Jamie stared miserably down at his score. "Will...that be a lot of trouble?"

"Naah, it's cool. Welcome to the Ifrit."

"Did you do that too, as a kid I mean?"

"Yep. "

"What did you get?"

"All sixes."

"That's fantastic, isn't it?"

"The rule of the game was to score as many ones as possible."

"Oh..."

The most evil djinn in the world grinned at Jamie. "As I said... welcome to the Ifrit."

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**So, this was basically Iblis explaining to a kid what evil is. Next chapter will probably be... Iblis explaining to his sons what evil is. I'm on a roll now.**


	4. Ohana

** Great big fucking AN to answer all these reviewers!** Hello, my honeys! First off, I cannot express how grateful I am to have received such a lovely bunch of reviews on a thing I was 90% sure nobody would ever even read. When I saw them reviews this morning, I spontaneously started singing "Let it go", I was so happy.

_**To Guest53**_, no need to be shy. I'll try and answer all your questions to my best abilities, it's really a pleasure to me.

Yes, Iblis was kinda sad in chapter 2, because he made the record in case he was going to die and therefore couldn't phone Nimrod anymore. I think that everyone, even the most evil people, get a little sad in the face of almost certain death.

I didn't mean "pissed" as in angry, I meant "pissed" as in really really drunk. As I was. :)

1. Faustina isn't Iblis' daughter. Her father is Mr. Sachertorte, a Marid, Jenny's ex-husband.

2. They most probably weren't married. Iblis kinda disguised himself as Jenny's husband and raped her, thus creating Dybbuk. His darkest moment, in my opinion. He was probably drunk or had just suffered a traumatizing hit to the head. (There's a wiki?! How come I did not know of this, asdfffgjfhgdh OMG)

3. When Faustina heard about Iblis raping her mom, and saw that her dad was too cowardly to do anything against him, she possessed the prime minister because she thought he had enough power/ political influence to have Iblis arrested and killed. She was twelve and angry and a little naive I guess, and it didn't work out right.

I hope things are somewhat clearer now, if you have any more questions, feel free to ask! Or you could try ordering the third book online- it has icky snake cultists, some kinda decent Dybbuk and Iblis not leaving his bed for over three weeks. Yey

_**To Justreading**_, thanks, I'm glad you like this. I know of Jonathon Teer (by coincidence. Totally not because I spent ages combing the books for anything about Iblis' family, noooo). I included him here.

_**To SOJAG**_, thx, I'll try and update roughly every week...

_**To Tartar**_, Nimrod is married?! I'm gonna have to catch up on this, this is highly interesting and makes for _so many_ interesting new fic ideas. Thanks...

So, here's another domestic Iblis chapter! Can't ever have too much domestic Iblis, eh? My weakest chapter so far (I think). What do YOU think?

* * *

"Daddy? Daddy, wake up."

"Whuh?" Iblis asked, sitting up in bed. For a moment, he experienced that weird little waking-up-existential-crisis where one can't remember who, what and where he is. But after a second he recognized himself, his bed, his apartment and the dark-haired child at his bedside prodding him awake.

"What is it, Jonny?"

"Jared says pancakes are ready."

"Awesome. Tell your brother I'll be up in a few."

"Jared also says you'll need to check on Rudyard."

"Oh for fu- for he- for something's sake" Iblis muttered, reminding himself not to curse in front of his eight-year-old child.

As he got up – way before noon – he thought about the lazy-Ifrit-cliché that was commonplace among the good tribes. It was also true. He in particular, however, spent a lot less days on his back than he'd like to.

First things first, he went to check on his youngest son. As expected, Rudyard needed a clean-up. This was less of a problem than one might think; Iblis had raised a lot of sons, he could by now change a diaper with his eyes closed. Never ever had he employed a nanny for his sons. He didn't trust servants with his children, or with anything for that matter.

Rudyard's mother was not here. In fact, she had very unceremoniously dumped the infant at Iblis' door with a note attached, telling him never to contact or try to find her ever. Needless to say, they had not parted on good terms.

Iblis didn't like to think about it.

He had pancakes with his sons, because _evil people neglect their children_ was another cliché, and he'd be damned if he'd let his life be permeated by clichés that stuck around like toxic waste. He made time for his kids. _You do bad things, and you do them well, but you're not an un-person for it_.

He was feeding Rudyard when the phone rang. Rudyard immediately began to screech at the noise.

"Jared, could you take this!" Iblis called over to his second-eldest, while he himself cradled Rudyard in his arms and shushed him down.

Jared Teer, twenty-something years old and currently crashing at his father's place because he had recently run into some Marid-shaped trouble and needed to keep his head down for a while, answered the phone.

"For you, dad" he said after briefly listening to the person calling.

"Okay, give" Iblis answered and extended his free hand, leaning Rudyard against his chest with the other.

Jared handed the phone over, and Iblis said "What is it?" into the receiver.

"Iblis? Hello" a woman's voice answered. "This is Tenebrae Williams. I'm calling about my daughter Michelle."

"Hi Tenny, how you doin'? What about her?" Iblis replied.

"Well, she's just had her wisdom teeth extracted, and she'll be having her Tammuz soon. Could you maybe-"

"Wow, already? How old's she now, twelve? When I last saw you guys, she was, what, five?"

"Six. Time passes so fast" the Ifrit woman said with a smile in her voice. "How are yours?"

"Uh, you know, the usual. Rudyard's learning to crawl already."

"He must be a lot of work. Especially since his mother..."

"Right. About your daughter's Tammuz. Are you guys planning on doing it here?"

"Actually, we're at our place in Cairo right now. If it's not too much trouble, maybe you could come over, that would be great."

"Well, I'd have to take Rudyard with me. I'll not risk leaving him with his brothers. But apart from that, it's no trouble at all. I've got nothing going on this week. Let's make it Friday, shall we?"

"Friday is great, thank you so much."

"It's okay. Oh hey, I think someone else is trying to call me. I'll hang up now, okay, see you."

"See you."

He hung up and took the other call. It was his oldest son Odair, who he had recently set up with the task of keeping an eye on the enemy.

"Hello dad."

"Hello son. Any news about the Marid?"

"I dunno, dad, depends. Do you mean your special Marid, or just the Marid tribe in general?"

"I have no idea what you're implying, there is no 'special' Marid" Iblis swiftly replied.

"I dunno" Odair repeated. "It just seems like you care a bit more for Nimrod Godwin-"

"_Shut _your mouth, there's nonsense coming out. What did you call me for?"

"Well, guess who just popped out a perfectly healthy little son. If your guess is Jenny Sachertorte, then you're right. Bravo, dad. I salute you."

"Fuck. Just what I needed right now." He paused for a moment. "What's the boy's name?"

"Dybbuk."

"That's... quite a name. So, do I have to expect anything? _Vindictum_? Lawsuit?"

"I don't think so. The husband won't do anything, that's for sure. Too much of a coward."

"Alright. Thanks for telling me. Bye."

Ignoring Odair's protest, Iblis hung up. He looked down at Rudyard, who had fallen asleep by now, and thought _ugh, great. Another son. A half-and-half. That's bound to bring trouble._

In the living room, Jared and Jonathon were curled up on the couch watching a cartoon. Iblis himself abhorred television, but he didn't forbid his children to watch it. They had limited TV-hours each day, and certain programs they were not allowed to watch until they were a certain age, but that was it. As he walked by, the Hawaiian cartoon-girl on the screen placed a flower crown on the head of a blue... creature...thing. "_Ohana_ means family" she said. "And family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten."

Iblis had a lopsided smile on this.

He went into the bedroom to place Rudyard in his crib. He then paused in front of his drinks cabinet, that had been located here so his kids wouldn't happen upon it and contained, among other things, a truly excellent bottle of Scotch waiting for a moment just like this. Yes, sure, drinking was a vice, but he'd be damned if he-

"Daddy?"

He turned around nonchalantly, acting before the world and his eight-year-old son like he hadn't just contemplated getting wasted with all his responsibilities and his kids present.

"Yes, Jonny?"

"I have... I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Daddy, are you a superhero?"

"A superhero?" Iblis said, smiling, while his mind went _okay what, oh no, oh __**please**__._

"Only 'cause, y'know, yesterday at dinner? You just snipped your fingers and the dishes cleaned themselves. And when I scraped my knee last week you blew on it and it just _healed_. So... do you have superpowers? Like Superman or something?"

"Come here." Iblis sat down on his bed with his son. "Jonathon, I'm not a superhero. I'm a djinn. As are you, and your brothers, by the way. And I'll never, ever be like Superman. I'm actually more like... the Joker?"

"I don't get it. The Joker is evil and has no powers at all."

"You'll get it when you're older, promise. When you get your djinn powers."

"When'll that be?"

"Um, let's see, you're eight now... should be another four years."

"_Another _four years?! But I want my superpowers now!"

"They're djinn powers, not superpowers, and there's nothing I can do to speed things up. It's just the natural process of growing up. Sorry, but you'll just have to be patient."

Jonathon pouted.

Iblis opened the window and lit himself a cigarette.

_A Superhero. Tsk._

He had done this a lot of times, with all his sons, and whenever an Ifrit child had their Tammuz, but that didn't make it any easier. He tried to imagine the other side of things, the leaders of the good tribes telling their children _You're a djinn now, welcome to heroically fighting evil! _And the kids just being like _Yaaay!_ Meanwhile, he had to tell young Ifrit that their parents were not the heroes they had taken them for, and that they themselves could never be heroes either, no matter how much they might wish for it, because that was just how things were. And he thought about how he had to do it again within this week when that girl Michelle had her Tammuz, and he could just about see the disappointment on her face, and he found his mood was thoroughly ruined.


	5. Strays

**Hi. I'm gonna take my first driving lesson tomorrow and I'm hella scared, so this update is early in case I die or something. The last few days were a so totally... breathtaking. Getting so much attention on this fic absolutely...wow. Such review. Much thank. Wow. You guys. I thought nobody would ever even read this and now I got more reviews than ever before in my life, _you guys... _**

**_Moontoon_ asked if I would take requests/suggestions, and _yes_, I would happily do that. I mean, I have a backlog of ideas, but that's not gonna last forever, so... if you have requests for stories, go ahead and send me them!**

**Also, since you have been so busily reviewing, I'll try something out right now. The thing is, I have several ideas waiting to be done next, so I'm asking your opinion of what you'd like me to write. Do you want longer stories on here or should I stick to one-shots? Because I have several things in my head that would require more room than one chapter. Here's some ideas:**

**I could do something from Rudyard's perspective ("diary of Rudyard Teer", the like) that would involve some Philippa/Rudyard (since some of you asked for Philippa/Rudyard) and of course a large quantity of Ifrit fluff/angst (I can do that for ages, really).**

**I also have some other Nimrod/Iblis stories that would be _full-fledged slash, not just implied, _so I'm gonna ask if you're ok with that or if you'd rather not want that (one of which is an origin story, like when they first met? It's pretty weird).**

**I could also do the crazy AU stuff that I mentioned in chapter one. So, if you'd give me a quick feedback on what you'd like to see in future chapters, or give me your ideas, that would be great.**

**Meanwhile... *flings another chapter of pointless fluff into everyone's face***

* * *

Nimrod had a habit with strays.

Every now and again he would happen upon a stray dog or cat while walking the streets of London, and he'd never be able to resist their baleful looks. This time, as he was taking a leisurely evening walk, it was a puppy.

"Oh dear" he sighed as something whined at him from an alleyway. He bent down and pet the tiny creature for a minute, wiping his hand on the nearest wall as he got up. "I'm afraid I don't have any treats for you" he said as the dog pushed its wet little nose into his hand expectantly. Of course he could have easily provided something for the puppy to eat, what with being a djinn and all, but he knew in his heart that if he wanted to provide every stray in London with treats, he would run out of powers pretty soon. So he just walked on.

Except that, after a few steps, he turned around to see that the dog was following him.

"Oh, please leave" he addressed it again, as if it could possibly understand. "Don't you have somewhere to go?"

The dog made no intention of leaving. Instead it ran up to him and sniffed his leg excitedly.

"None of that please. Shoo" Nimrod said and tried to walk on. The puppy went on pursuing.

"Look, I can't adopt you. I really can't. Find someone else."

It was true. Nimrod owned an old house full of precious antiques and ancient carpets. Not the ideal environment for a dog. A dog would break stuff and shed hair on stuff and do other, nastier business on stuff, and Nimrod was, in those respects, a bit of a germaphobe. He liked his house nice and clean. And not to think of Groanin. The man would be absolutely appalled.

But still, the poor thing was so pitifully _thin_, and its fur was matted with dirt and _definitely_ needed to be taken care of, and it looked at him with those big, soulful eyes and _ugh_...

"Alright, let's see what I can do" he said, scooping the puppy up in his arms. It happily wagged its tail and tried to lick his face. "You're still not going to my house, though." Thank goodness he knew a decent animal shelter just down the road.

"Oh, Mr. Godwin, you again" the lady at the shelter welcomed him with a smile. "Found another one?"

"Yes, Mrs. Harrow, another orphan of the storm" Nimrod replied, setting the puppy down on the counter.

"We'll do our best to find him a home. Won't we, little buddy?"

Nimrod could only admire humans who truly liked being good to animals.

As he left the room, he heard Mrs. Harrow say to her colleague: "Y'know, I came to like that guy. Bit of an oddball, that one, but he drops by every other week with another stray. Very kind."

As he came home, Groanin greeted him with: "You've got fur all over your suit, sir. Another stray?"

"Maybe" Nimrod replied.

* * *

Meanwhile, far away from that incident, another djinn whom you could well call Nimrod's complete negative (_Nimrod inverted, his nemesis, his counterpart_) was also taking a walk through a city that he pretty much owned, and that he found extremely well.

Iblis liked Las Vegas. He liked the casinos and the neon lights and the exciting crime and how the city never stopped, never slept, but was active day and night. True, the imitated palaces and pyramids were a bit kitschy (alright, stark kitschy), but oh well. It wasn't perfect, but it was all his. It was a city for Ifrit, for him, tailored to his every need. Iblis loved Las Vegas, and Las Vegas loved him back. Still, you had to tread with care here... literally, Iblis thought as his foot met an obstacle which, at glancing down, turned out to be a junkie lying in a gutter. About five rats were scurrying around the guy, probably waiting around in case he died soon.

"Ew, icky mundane" the Ifrit muttered in disgust and shooed the rats off with a few flicks of his walking cane.

One rat, however, stayed. Completely unafraid, the little creature looked up at the djinn and wrinkled its little nose. For a moment they just stared at each other, rat and snake, completely transfixed.

"Shove off" Iblis then said, hitting the thing with his cane. It didn't shove off, though. The situation was almost comically similar to Nimrod's, as Iblis turned back after walking a few steps, only to see the rat determinately following him through the gutter by the sidewalk.

"What the actual fuck" Iblis said to himself, then decided to dismiss it and go home. But after crossing a few streets, he had to realize that the damn thing was still keeping up.

"Now, I know that rats are smart cookies" he addressed the tiny thing, "But you're not being smart right now. What exactly do you think to gain by this?"

The rat just sat on the sidewalk looking at the Ifrit. Of course it didn't respond.

"Look, I'll not benefit you in any way. I don't think you're adorable. And tell you what, no one ever will. If you were a kitten or whatever, I'd understand, but you're a rat. A child of the sewers. You're not cute, you probably transmit horrible diseases (like everything in this place does), you're literally a pest. _You are life's trash_."

He gave the creature a kick and went his merry ways. Until, only a few blocks away from his destination, he heard a faint chirping sound behind him, like a bird or a... rat would make.

He sighed and turned around. There it sat, looking at him.

"You know what" Iblis said, went down on one knee and opened his hands.

The black rat ran up to him and onto his palm, and he lifted it up and permitted it to sit in his jacket pocket. Then he got out his cellphone and dialed Rudyard's number.

"Rudyard, what do you think of rats?"

"Um...? Can be cute, I guess?"

"Do you want a pet one?"

"Err..."

"Good. For the record, you've now got a pet rat. Bye."

As he entered his busiest casino that also served as his headquarters, Palis the foot-fetishist (or whatever it was the guy had going on) greeted him with: "There's a rat in your pocket, sir."

"Yeah so? I'm not weird. You are" Iblis replied.

* * *

**Later it turned out that the rat was a pregnant female, and that's how Iblis came by the little flock of most unusual pets he had in book three... anyhow, see you soon for more chapters, and I really hope you'll give me some feedback! :) **


	6. Guardian

**I should be writing applications right now... I should be looking for a college right now... _I should be_, dammit! *aggressively continues updating nonsense fanfic***

**Hi _Moontoon_, as for what you wrote about the election time, people can take all the time they want to make suggestions. I'm not in a hurry.**

**More important to me is: I kinda need to know if you guys are okay with slash fics that _might_ get smutty. I have things like that planned for future chapters, but I don't want people to feel appalled/offended by what I write.**

**_Woopee, 53 is back!_ You completely awesome person you. You know what, I've actually had a sort of thing like that in my head since forever. :) There will definitely be a story with a unite-against-common-enemy-plot in some form in the future.**

**Thank you all for giving this humble fic your most appreciated attention! And now...**

* * *

Imagine Iblis dying a lone and gruesome death in his jade suit of armor. A sad thing to imagine alright, but this is not the end of things, for after his death, Iblis goes straight to Hell (Where else, right). On arriving there, he meets the devil, who briefs him on how things run down here. He says he prides himself on running an efficient realm of pure evil. He says he has a talent for recognizing competence. He says "You look like a man who can do a thing or two". He says there's two ways things can go now.

Normally, he would send Iblis to purgatory with the other gazillions of lost souls to be punished for their sins for the rest of eternity. But there's always a choice. He can "take the wings", as Lucifer puts it, work under him as a minor demon. "We could use someone of your talent, someone with experience in the supernatural line of work. All future expenses covered, pretty good chances of promotion, and you get demon powers."

"Where's the catch?" Iblis asks. "That sounds a bit too easy to me."

Of course there is a catch. The thing is, he still has a pretty impressive record of sins that he must still be punished for, "And working under me isn't quite punishment, if I say so myself". But he can work it off. He can make repayments, and Satan explains how.

Iblis doesn't want purgatory. It's an offer he can't refuse.

There is _always_ a choice.

He is given a pair of wings, a badass flaming sword (because a demon _needs_ a badass flaming sword) and set to work.

* * *

Nimrod begins to notice shortly after Iblis's death. It's just small things: He spots a familiar face in a crowd, or catches sight of someone in his peripheral vision, but as he looks, there's no one there. Whenever minor accidents happen to him (he _almost_ walks into something, he _almost_ cuts his hand on a kitchen knife), he often _almost _hears someone sigh and snip their fingers. And sometimes, when he's completely alone, he gets a feeling of being _watched_. Not in a creepy way. It's more like –he assumes – a faithful believer might feel that their Holy Spirit slash deity is watching over them.

He naturally never makes the connection.

That is, until he runs into real danger. Namely, a lunatic mundane who bottled him up and now wants to exploit his powers for himself. One moment, the guy is blabbing his mouth at him, in the middle of telling him the details of his evil plan, typically inefficient villain, next moment he's suddenly grabbing his chest, yelling "Oh God, my heart!" and pitching over, dead as a doornail. And just in that very particular moment, Nimrod feels a third presence in the room, apart from him and the very unlucky wannabe-villain. He turns around and catches a glimpse of a vaguely familiar silhouette, illuminated in an unearthly glow, and hears a vaguely familiar voice whisper: "Oops..."

They make eye contact for about a second, then the presence is gone, vanished, as if it never existed.

* * *

He wants to dismiss the whole thing as his imagination on an adrenaline rush, but as his adventures with the twins commence, the ghostly... whatever it is appears again, not _doing_ anything really, just always being_ there_ when things get dangerous, and _John and Philippa see it too._

"Uncle Nimrod?" Philippa asks once. "What is this, um, thing that's always by your side lately? You know, it looks like a person, always obscured by a strong light, and it seems to just... always have your back?"

"I don't know what it is or what it wants, Philippa" Nimrod answers. "But I'm relieved you see it too and I'm not just losing my mind. I'm pretty sure it's not hostile. One of these days, I'm going to unveil it."

Philippa is right. It – Nimrod has no name for it – seems to be focused on always having his back. Whenever he uses up a lot of djinn powers at once, or just generally feels exhausted, something warm touches his back and he instantly feels refreshed – when he turns around, the area is surrounded by a vague general glowing, as if a strong source of light or warmth had just been located there, and sometimes he can hear a faint laugh fading on the breeze. It's not the most pleasant kind of laughter, that's for sure, it's more like when someone pranks you and then laughs, _see how stupid you look right now? _On one of these occasions, Nimrod catches a black feather trundling through the air. Could be from some bird, he thinks. Or not.

* * *

The revelation happens one day, when Nimrod is in danger again, on his ever relentless fight against evil, ambushed by three Shaitan. They have him cornered and, not unlike Tolkien's three trolls, are bickering over who gets to kill the Marid.

"Ugh, why don't you let me have him? I'm the oldest, I go first."

"I saw him first, you two just followed me. He's mine."

"No he's mine."

"Mine!"

"He is_ mine"_ says a voice, laced with all arrogance and hellfire of the world, and Nimrod knows in one great big rush of understanding that the thing – the good thing – the guardian thing is back. He also _knows that voice_. He just thought it long _dead_.

Dressed in the same old impeccable suit, the same cold snake-like eyes as ever, only with two black, slender _wings_ on his back, Iblis calmly steps in front of Nimrod and draws an impressively big sword. He flicks it casually against his thigh and it catches on fire.

"He is mine" he repeats to the three. "I have worked my ass off to make his life hell when you little punks weren't even around yet. He is _my_ arch-enemy, _I_ do the antagonizing here and _you_ can go. Fuck. Off." He bears his teeth to the three and _hisses_.

The three Shaitan are definitely doing math in their head for a second, then, realizing they still outnumber them, they charge. With the speed and grace of an attacking cobra, winged-Iblis goes at them, bringing the flaming sword down upon the first one in a bright, wide arch.

It cuts through the guy like a knife through butter, cuts him right in half, and as the other two take one look at their companion and run for it, Iblis raises the sword and says: "Wow. So _that's_ what this thing does."

He turns around, looks at Nimrod, does a little mock salute. "Marid." Then he walks off, carelessly twirling the sword by his side, like he used to do with his walking cane back in the days.

Or at least he plans to do that. He never gets far, as Nimrod catches up with him, spins him around, grabs the front of his shirt and lifts him a few inches off the ground, wings and all.

"What are you doing here?!"

"Saving your ass" Iblis replies, like that was something he always did.

"Why aren't you dead?!"

"Wow, rude. Trick question, Marid: You are holding me up by the chest. Do you feel any heartbeat on me? Probably no. I _am_ dead, you know."

"But...? The wings... and the protecting me... Iblis, how are you an angel?"

Iblis snorts. "An angel. Me. You're a special kind of stupid, aren't you? I'm a demon, _black_ feathers."

"Oh. But I thought dead djinn had no way of coming back?"

Iblis shrugs. "I thought so too. Surprise there."

"That still doesn't explain you being here."

"Oh, that. Well, this is where it gets awkward." Iblis fidgets a bit, like he's really embarrassed. "You see, some of us evil dead souls get a kind of get-out-of-jail-free-card. I made a deal with the devil because I didn't want to spend eternity in purgatory for my sins. So I took the wings, became one of Satan's errand boys. It's surprisingly not half bad down there. Thing is, I've still got to make amendments for all the bad stuff I did in life. I basically do that by... watching you."

"I can't believe this. You're my guardian angel now?"

"Guardian _demon_, Nimrod. A lot of what the mundanes call 'guardian angels' is actually people like me. People who have dues to pay. The real angels can't be bothered with playing guardian for ordinary folks. They're busy with saints and whatnot."

"Guardian demon. Alright. And you'll...um, you'll... be around?"

"If you want me to."

Nimrod takes a long look at his late once-greatest-enemy. Then he nods.

* * *

From this day forth, Nimrod can always rely on his demon to be there when there's danger. Even when he comes down with the flu in the fall, his demon sticks around, warming him with his hellfire (dead people can't catch diseases) and reading Shakespeare to him until they both fall asleep. When Groanin enters the room next morning and finds a _creature_ with the face of a dead enemy and raven-like wings wrapped around his master's sleeping form, he grabs a fireplace poker and tries to poke the gruesome thing off the bed. Nimrod wakes up to them dueling each other, poker vs. flaming sword, all over the room and has to get up to stop the fight, even though he feels _most unwell_. The two of them immediately unite and usher him back into bed.

* * *

Only when they go up against evil Dybbuk, Nimrod catches sight of Iblis standing by the side, eyes lowered and hands raised apologetically. He mouths the words _No_ and _Sorry _and disappears from sight.

* * *

Meanwhile, in New York, Philippa Gaunt crosses a road. Deep in thought, she doesn't notice an SUV that is about to hit her, until someone grabs her and pulls her out of harm's way – it's a close call.

As she turns around, as relieved as she is shocked, to thank her savior, she's met with the sight of none other than Rudyard Teer with a pair of black wings on his back, casting an insecure half-smile at her.

"Hi" he says.

"Rudyard?!" Philippa exclaims. "Aren't you supposed to be trapped in a jade suit? What's with the wings? And did you just save my life?!"

"Umm, yeah" Rudyard replies self-consciously, his hand going up to scratch the back of his head. "I guess there's something I have to explain to you."

* * *

**So, that was weird, huh? I basically wrote this because I'm weak and I want Iblis back. There will be at least one more Guardian chapter, I just have so many ideas for this setting and how they could interact...**


	7. Monsters

**Hi there! To 53, who was asking 'bout my driving lesson, well it was okay, could have gone better but, I mean, I survived, hehe... **

***Flashback***

**Me: *steers wrongly in sharp turn, almost crashes into bus* *internally screaming* IBLIS TAKE THE WHEEL! D:**

**Instructor: *frantically grabbing steering wheel***

**Iblis, who's always there 'cause he's mah muse 'n shit: *unintelligible screeching* **

**Yeah, pretty much like that, thank for review, how's it goin' O.O **

**Thursday is upload dayyyy! (Well, Thursday in my timezone. Could be Wednesday or Friday where you live for all I know)**

* * *

"Mom, there's a monster under my bed."

It was midnight. Layla Gaunt looked down at five-year-old Philippa who was standing by her bedside and had just woke her up. On the other half of the bed, her husband Edward hadn't noticed any of the commotion and continued sleeping peacefully.

"Phil, please. There are no monsters. Try to go back to sleep, alright?"

"John sees it too."

"Oh dear. Did you wake your brother up over this?"

Philippa pouted. "_He_ woke _me_ up. Mom, can you please go check it out? We're really a bit scared."

Yawning, Layla got up and went with Philippa to the twins' room. They would get separate rooms soon, but as long as they were young, their parents saw no harm in letting them sleep together. Especially as they, being twins and all, were so very close that they often thought and even dreamt the same things – which probably explained both of them seeing the same scary monster.

Layla armed herself with a flashlight and, as the twins demanded, checked both their beds, the closet, and every other dark corner they could think of. If there had ever been any monsters, they fled from Layla's light.

"All done" she said. "No monsters anywhere." She gave the twins a radiant smile. "Now you can sleep again, right?"

Her children gave her skeptical looks. "It will return as soon as the light is off" John said.

"Grownups can't see it, only kids" Philippa added.

"We're still scared" John concluded.

"Hmmm" Layla said. Then she had an idea. "Wait here a moment, will you? I'll leave the light on."

She went to her dressing room and fished an old necklace from her jewelry case. It was made up of polished wooden beads and a pendant of ivory with engraved mystical symbols. It was a good-luck-charm and had been a present to her from an old Eremite lady from India, but that was long ago. On her way back to the kids' room, she collected a teddy bear that they had been playing with that day, and put the charm on it.

She noted that John seemed a little more panicky than Philippa, so she put the bear in his bed. "Look, kids. I brought you someone to protect you from the monster."

"My teddy?" Philippa asked.

"Not just that. See what the teddy is wearing? This is an Indian charm that brings good luck. It also repels monsters. So when you go back to sleep, John, and the monster comes back, this will protect you and your sister."

"Really, Mom?"

"Promised. Now aren't you scared anymore?"

"No Mom, thank you" John said, smiling.

* * *

Another night, not too much time apart from that one. Rudyard Teer, recently turned six, peeked into his father's bedroom. Iblis was alone in there, and sleeping, impossibly sprawled and tangled with the blanket, managing somehow to occupy a whole king-sized bed all by himself.

Rudyard padded up to the bed and gave a few prods where he suspected his father's shoulder to be.

Now Iblis was a fast sleeper; when he was asleep he was _asleep_, so it took a lot of prodding for him to come to life. He blinked at Rudyard a few times and then not very gracefully flopped back into the sheets.

"Wha'sit, Rudyard?" he asked, his voice muffled by the pillow on his face.

"Daddy, can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Why."

"There's a monster."

Iblis raised his head. "A monster."

"It's in my closet. It's scary."

"You've prob'ly imagined it, go back to sleep."

"No, daddy, it's really there and it scares me!" Rudyard wailed, close to tears.

"Oh for the love of-" Iblis muttered and got up. "I'll go check it out."

He went with Rudyard to his room, mildly annoyed to be deprived of his sleep. But as he opened his son's closet and saw what was in there, mild annoyance turned to white-hot rage, and the next thing he knew was he'd grabbed the skinny, faceless, tentacled creature, punched it in the non-face, thrown it on the ground and was now kicking the hell out of it. It's limbs were so slender and fragile that they didn't stand much of a chance against pure, unleashed Ifrit-rage.

"Leave me alone!" the thing, despite not having a mouth, somehow screamed. "How can you even see me? I'm visible only to children!"

"I'm a djinn, you fucking ugly piece of trash!" Iblis yelled back and brought his heel down on the creature's back. He felt an immense satisfaction as he heard something crackle in there. Grinning manically, he grabbed a handful of the black tentacles that were protruding from the closet monster's back, twisted them around and ripped them right off. There was a lot of blood and the creature gave a blood-curdling scream of pain and anguish. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it hurts, I think I broke two ribs, oh God, please" it sobbed.

"There's the door" Iblis snarled, pointing there. "Get the hell out of here and never, _never_ molest my kids again, you got it? If I catch you here one more time, I swear to God I'll not stop at _anything_."

"I'll never come here again, I'll leave you alone, promise!" it cried and got the hell out of there, but not before Iblis threw its own ripped-off tentacles at its retreating back.

Then he stood there panting, with blood on his hands and more blood splashed all over his pajamas and even some of it on his face. As the bright-white nuclear plant waves of aggression disappeared from before his eyes, he saw that Rudyard, in the meantime, had gotten all of his brothers. They were all sitting together on the bed and watched him, completely enraptured.

"That was awesome, Dad" said Rudyard.

From this day forth, whenever Rudyard was scared of monsters, he would just slip into his father's bed without much fuss. When you're afraid of something evil, it is sometimes comforting to know that you've got a far greater evil on your side to kick the former one's ass**.**

* * *

**This was somewhat of a tiny self-comfort-fic. I'm 18 years old, but I'm still terribly scaredy when it comes to horror films or creepy stuff on the internet - it freaks me out so much that I legit lie in bed shivering for hours after watching. So recently I had the genius, if slightly deranged, idea to battle horror with fandom, i.e. to always put a CotL book on my nightstand as a sort of comfort object. The mental image of Iblis kicking the ass of the creepy things while I sleep really helps. I'm aware of the fact that I'm basically imagining an evil mass-murderer watching me sleep, but DO NOT QUESTION MY LOGIC :D**


	8. Souls

**So, I'm playing with the soulmates AU idea – I know the concept is not quite new, but I wanted to try it out with the CotL universe. Long-ass chapter. Also, my first _real_ Nimlis on here. I hope you like...  
**

**Ugh, we're having quite the weather over here, up to 30 degrees celsius, veritable djinn weather! *scratches sunburn* *yells* MUSE, come out, I want you to rub aloe gel _all over my body_, NO resisting or I'll write you back into the jade suit! Also scratch my back.  
**

**Iblis: *still is muse* *sighs and sets to work***

**Shoutout to Guest53 who keeps writing the awesomest reviews ever! I'm kinda curious about you by now, just what kind of wonderful human being are you, appearing like an anonymous ninja to lift my spirits with your reviews whenever I pop out a chapter? Just wanna say thank you!^^  
**

* * *

There are many things in which djinn differ from the mundanes. Most importantly, djinn powers, and the fact that djinn are made of fire. Also, every djinn is born with the name of a person tattooed on their wrist, the person who will once become their soul mate. Well, I say every djinn. It is not uncommon for a djinn child to be born with an empty wrist. Some of those children will experience a name appearing on their skin as they grow older, some have to wait for many years, and some stay soulmate-less for their whole lives. The ones who have a full name and gemetric name on their wrists from the start are thought to be extremely blessed. It is a good omen, such is believed, for a pure, open, honest relationship with their soulmate once they meet.

Nimrod is born with an empty wrist, but a name appears when he's five years old. However, there is something peculiar about that name.

He is super excited when the first traces of ink start appearing, and can't wait for it to form a name. One morning he wakes up with it fully developed, and immediately wakes his mother to read it to him. Ayesha Godwin takes a look at his wrist and is startled. They have a long talk, and Nimrod has to promise his mother to not tell the name to anyone. The only other person who gets to see it is the older sister Layla.

He shows it to her one night. It is storming outside, and he climbed into bed with her because he's a little afraid. They have a light, and Layla is reading out from a book of fairytales, until she suddenly says: "You wanna see something odd?"

"What?" Nimrod asks.

Layla rolls up the sleeve of her nightgown. "Here, look. My tattoo formed a month ago. Isn't is quaint? There's no secret name there at all. It just says 'Edward Gaunt'."

"Maybe it'll just come later. Or maybe he is no djinn."

Layla looks a bit worried. "But just think he was a mundane! He wouldn't have my name _at all_, would he? I don't know if I like that."

"When you meet him, you'll like him alright" Nimrod tries to comfort her. "Do you want to see something even odder?"

"What?"

He rolls up the sleeve of his firetruck-red pajamas and shows her his name.

"Is that a male name?" she asks.

"Yes, it is. Mother said this can be possible. Apparently, soulmates don't have to be all romantic. It's just someone your soul is very closely connected to."

"But _Iblis Teer_? I've heard of the Teer family. They're bad djinn... very, very bad djinn."

"Mother said so too. That's why we mustn't tell anyone. Maybe... there was a mistake, or..." He falters; he doesn't know.

He grows up, many things happen. One of them is Iblis. He is indeed a bad djinn, the worst, maybe. Nimrod knows he has to fight him, and he does. Whenever they meet, he tries very hard to not sneak glances at the man's wrist. It's futile, anyway, Iblis is always, _always_ long-sleeved. As is Nimrod, by the way. They have a lot in common. Maybe, in a different world, they could have been friends.

One day Layla calls him from a New York payphone, sobbing and laughing into the receiver. She has just met her Edward Gaunt.

"I never would have thought" she says. "He's a little mundane investment banker! Can you imagine? But, Nimrod, he's wonderful, he's truly kind-hearted, and generous, and... oh God, I hope he likes me!"

Nimrod assures her that she's a beautiful, intelligent, charming, perfect woman and there's no reason whatsoever for her mundane investment banker to not like her just as much as she apparently likes him.

A year after that, Nimrod is invited to their wedding.

The twins are born, both without names on their wrists. Maybe it's because they have a mundane father. Maybe the names will come up later, and then Layla will have a lot of explaining to do.

Meanwhile, Nimrod's own marriage has gone downhill. His wife, Alexandra, is a proud woman, and even though she does like him, she can't bear to live with not being the one written on Nimrod's arm, and who is written there instead disturbs her even more.

* * *

Iblis is born with a name, but it is not right. His father makes that very clear. He orders him to always, always cover it up and never show it to anyone. He doesn't give any reasons for that, doesn't even want his son to learn to read in order to keep him from knowing the truth. Iblis teaches himself to in the family library behind his father's back. Only then he gets to know what is so wrong with him. But he never talks about it. His father will beat him if he brings it up. His father will beat him and his mother for _anything _really. Iblis spends his childhood enduring, and waiting, and when he gets his djinn powers and they become greater, far greater than his father's, he frees himself of him. But he always covers his wrist, out of habit, and when asked will say that he has no soulmate, that there's just blank skin there, and he doesn't want people to look at that.

His sons are all born with nice, unproblematic Ifrit names, and Iblis is secretly relieved every time. Maybe, he thinks, this family's line of bad luck has ended with him.

* * *

Flash forward to the house of the French ambassador in Cairo, where Iblis has just bottled up the twins. It's a moment of triumph, his plan has succeeded. Except that Nimrod suddenly materializes out of the computer.

"Good day, Iblis" he greets.

Iblis calculates his chances. He has to admit that Nimrod has chosen the perfect moment to screw him over. He's entirely exhausted from just binding the twins, and he can also feel all that Brandy from earlier kicking in. He's in no condition to fight.

"Ah, shit" he concludes.

Nimrod takes the little perfume flask, that the twins brought, from the table and calmly strides towards him. "One last question, Iblis, before I do you in" he says. "Back when you locked me up in that tomb. How did you find out my secret name?"

"Oh, that was easy-peasy" Iblis smirks. He doesn't know why he's doing it. Maybe it's the Brandy. Maybe it's the fact that he just lost everything.

Nimrod watches, not sure what is coming, as the Ifrit opens the cufflink on his right arm. Like the expert poker player he is, he shows Nimrod the palm and back of his hand to indicate he has nothing up his sleeve. His wrist is covered with a length of cloth that looks like it's been on there for years. The knot that closes it is so tight that Iblis has to use his teeth to remove it. Once he's done that, he raises his right hand, _his right wrist that bears both Nimrod's common and secret name_, an almost pained expression on his face.

Both Nimrod's hands fly up to cover his mouth as he feels tears welling up in his eyes. The little perfume flask falls down and shatters into a thousand pieces. "Oh God" he chokes past his fingers. "Oh God, you too."

"What...what?"

Nimrod shows Iblis his own wrist, with Iblis's name on it, and watches the Ifrit's eyes widen. They both can't believe it, they match, for goodness' sake, they found each other... and they have a problem now.

"What now?" Nimrod asks.

Iblis shakes his head. "Don't ask me, Marid, I'm no smarter than you."

"Can I touch it?" Nimrod says timidly.

Iblis gives him a skeptical look, but then extends his hand. Nimrod takes it, retraces the writing that he is familiar with, because it's the font he signs all his letters in. Then he looks up at Iblis, who stares back, his face unreadable.

"Can I hug you?" Nimrod asks.

"Whatever" Iblis replies in a kind of shocked whisper, and Nimrod pulls him into a close embrace. Iblis doesn't hug him back, but he doesn't try to kill him either, which Nimrod takes as a positive sign. And as he tilts his head and makes their lips meet, he doesn't ask for permission anymore. Iblis smells like snakes and Brandy, and he tastes _horrible_ (he just threw up a live mouse, for God's sake) but somehow, this is still one of the best moments in Nimrod's life.

Eventually Iblis pulls away. "Marid, stop."

Nimrod is disappointed. "It felt wrong, didn't it?"

"It felt _right_, that's what weirds me out right now" Iblis gives back. Nimrod smiles. Then they both ask: "So, you did all this-" They pause, interrupting themselves.

"Alright, who asks it first? I guess it was the same question?"

"Let's say it together."

"Right, so you did all this-"

"-even though you knew I was your One Person, your soulmate? Yes. It was so hard at first. I didn't want to fight you. I wanted to get to know you, as a person, not as an opponent. But it's still my job to fight evil. I guess the wellbeing of the world was always more important than my personal happiness."

"Aww, that's what I call determined."

"Also, I always thought you couldn't..."

"...couldn't possibly have your name? Someone that horridly evil couldn't possibly be set up with a valiant soul like yours?"

"Nonsense. You were just always trying to kill me, and that's not what you usually do to your One."

"In my case, yes it is. I have a reputation to uphold" Iblis snaps back, then mutters something almost inaudible, that somehow includes the words _my father_.

"Pardon me, I didn't catch that bit. Your father? Was a cruel man, as far as I've heard, far more so than you. What about him?"

"Treated me like a failure from the start. I mean, I understand him to a certain degree, his son, his _only_ son, being born with the name of a famous Marid family on his wrist? Hell, I see why he went apeshit. He thought I'd never amount to much as an Ifrit. He thought that this would hold me back. Well, it didn't. When I took over the leadership, I had a hell of a lot to prove. Not to my father, screw my father, but to myself. I had to prove I was the best – or, as you'd put it, the worst Ifrit. I don't know what happens now. I never thought... things will have to change, right?"

"Yes. Things will have to change _big time_."

* * *

Things certainly happen differently from there. Five minutes after that exchange, John and Philippa are released from their bottle. They cheer at the sight of their uncle sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs smoking a cigar, looking very pleased with himself.

"Uncle Nimrod! What happened?"

"Where is Iblis?"

"Here, I'm here" Iblis says, stepping up from behind a bookshelf.

"Aargh!" Philippa screams.

"Oh, shut the hell up, I won't bite."

"Well, you said you would kill or enslave them. How are they not supposed to be afraid?" Nimrod asks. The situation is oddly undramatic. The twins would never have expected hero and villain to be so familiar. Also, Iblis looks like he has been through some traumatizing, life-altering experience since they've last seen him. They look from their uncle to the evil djinn and back again. "So...?" Philippa asks awkwardly.

To their extreme surprise, Nimrod takes Iblis's hand and shows the twins their wrists with their tattoos.

"What's going on?" John demands. Nimrod spends the next fifteen minutes lecturing the twins on soulmates, and what just happened here, and how it will probably affect the Marid, the Ifrit and their war. Then they walk back to Nimrod's house holding hands, the twins, who are still having a hard time taking all of that in, trailing behind them.

It is time for change.


	9. Headcanons, part II

**Nothing too exciting this week, sorry... Just a list of even more headcanons, completely off the top of my head, that have somehow accumulated since I'm writing this. Can you believe that, since the start of this story...thing, I came up with over twenty new ones? Seriously, since I'm back in this fandom, my brain's working on overdrive. WARNING: might jump from fluffy to kinky to sad and back.**

**All thank-yous of the world go out to Guest53 and Justreading, the guys who always seem to come back... seriously, I hold you guys in the highest regards, without your reviews I'm not sure if I would even still be updating. **

**Hi again, 53, since you asked, I live in Germany (and I'm DEEPLY SORRY for WW2 and the Holocaust, please don't hate me) right in the middle of the country in some god-forsaken hinterlands village. How about you? And how are you doing in general? Also, hooooneeeyyy, reviewing twice is not weird. If anyone's weird, I am. About your idea, I have something like that planned for Rudyard and Philippa, not exactly what you suggested, but close. It'll happen. Not this week, probably not next week, but it'll happen.  
**

**Also, I need some help here. I'm only now starting to read book 5, and it will be some time 'till I get to order book 6 and 7. Could someone who read them all please tell me _what the heck is up with Nimrod's wife? _Like why are they not together anymore? I feel like I need to know this, and the wiki is kinda unsatisfying. Thanks in advance!^^  
**

* * *

**1**. The Breaking Point headcanon (I've had this on my mind for a long time, but didn't talk about it because doing so made me sad) – like, every evil djinn can only do so much evil stuff until their conscience catches up with them – and then they break. Which does not necessarily mean that they can stop doing evil things now – older djinn like Iblis have probably been broken for a long time and just carry on because, whatevs, it's not like their lives can have any other purpose. It shows in the soul mirror.

**2**. Nimrod has seen Iblis's soul once on some occasion and was thoroughly disturbed.

**3**. Nimrod pities everyone evil from the bottom of his heart. He wants to defeat Iblis for the primary purpose of bringing him home, giving him a large fluffy blanket and a cup of tea and making sure he stays nice and stable and non-threatening.

**4**. Iblis has a hidden tattoo somewhere on him – just a stupid thing he did when he was young. It's nothing too grand, a small snake and a number thirteen or something (because of the song "thirteen" that is as close to Iblis's theme song as gets). The exact location of the thing I have not decided on... I'll leave it to the reader's imagination... ;p

**5**. Zombie apocalypse AU is something that needs to happen.

**6**. Iblis undressing while "Sail" is playing in the background is also something that needs to happen.

**7**. Nimrod said in book one that the Ifrit are cowardly and, with Iblis in custody, they wouldn't dare do anything. Well, that's true. Iblis sees his leadership as more like "watching a bunch of bratty five-year-olds that someone equipped with weapons of mass destruction that would put an atomic bomb to shame". (Direct quote from my dear evil muse, who periodically visits my place to inspire me and help me write, i.e. sit on my pink couch and inhale my booze.)

**8**. When Iblis is really, horribly bored, he sexts Nimrod. For the hell of it.

**9**. Nimrod can't dance.

**10**. Between book one and two when Nimrod had the bottle with Iblis in his possession, he would sometimes take him out because keeping him in the freezer was just so _cruel_. Iblis, who obviously hated the freezer, thus had to socialize. They ended up having a pretty good time, until Iblis had to be handed over to Ayesha.

**11**. Iblis has a namecalling kink. He gets off on his sexual partners telling him what an evil little piece of trash he is.

**12**. Apropos kinks: Nimrod secretly likes pleading (only with Iblis). In a dark part of his mind he has always kind of wanted to make Iblis beg him to do... y'know, things. He'd also like to make him apologize, but that's a different matter.

**13**. Whenever something "happens" between them, it's always Nimrod taking the initiative, or Iblis wanting to toy with or exploit Nimrod. It's tragic. It's one-sided. It's still majorly sexy.

**14**. Iblis doesn't "make love", Iblis "fucks".

**15**. Iblis is like an _inversed_ supervillain – ruthless killer by day, totally normal family man by night...

**16**. Nimrod's... unhealthy interest in his greatest enemy could be part of the reason of his breakup with Alexandra.

**17**. Nimrod's theme song is "Englishman in New York".

**18**. There needs to be an AU where Iblis and Rudyard are freed from their jade suits. Rudyard, who had a lot of time to think about his mistakes, turns his life around and enforces inter-tribal peace and goes through lots of character development. He also gets closer to like-minded people from the good tribes, especially to Philippa who he learns to respect for her cleverness and courage. Iblis, meanwhile, has to deal with the consequences of having thoroughly failed at everything. And as Rudyard, pretty much spitting at his feet, tells him to go screw himself and his evil shit, and his other sons clearly voice their sense of _this has gone too far_ about the fact that their father wanted to change the nature of the entire universe, Iblis realizes that he somehow managed to break apart the only thing he could rely on for his sanity – his family.

**18.5** Imagine Philippa and Rudyard singing "Love is an Open Door"! (I'm sorry. I'm random.)

**19**. It must be very depressing to Ifrit parents in general to raise their children, knowing that, for a reason they don't really know anymore, the only perspective in life their kids have is being evil and messing shit up. Imagine telling your child: _Listen, kid, when you grow up, you'll get phenomenal cosmic powers, _BUT_ the whole world will hate you. Even if you don't do anything. Just for being you, and being born into an Ifrit family._ As soon as Ifrit kids get their powers, they're going to be viewed as threats by good djinn, and therefore receive threats. Vicious circle. And there's no way out.

Imagine Ifrit parents like Iblis trying to protect their children as long as possible, trying to establish normal, safe lives outside their jobs – inversed-supervillain-lives – for the sake of their kids.

Imagine them watching their kids grow up and experiment with their djinn powers and find joy in being free to do whatever immoral thing they want. Imagine them filled with bitterness, because yes, they had fun too when they were young, evil is fun to some extent ok, but they know that their kids will eventually have kids too and they're going to learn how depressing it all can be and how being evil will inevitably run you down...

**20**. I'm not saying that kissing Iblis would have immediately redeemed him and prevented a lot of evil things to happen, I'm just saying Nimrod could have at least_ tried_

**21**. Or maybe he _has_ tried (and didn't succeed), like have you noticed, in book one, when John and Philippa get out of the bottle where time has passed much slower, and Nimrod tells them they had in fact not been weeks but merely _fifteen minutes_? And as we saw earlier when they were being imprisoned, binding a djinn and bottling him up is a matter of _seconds_. But still Nimrod needed fifteen minutes with Iblis, like _what in the world did they need fifteen minutes for_

**22.** Iblis cried through Despicable Me (he watched it with his sons, ok).

**23.** I imagine Nimrod sometimes being a little self-conscious about his appearance, since pretty much _everyone he knows_ is _extremely attractive_, such as: basically his entire family, his wife, the whole Sachertorte family, even Iblis, who, as I recall, is described as the good-looking English type (well, except for his...umm, little moments in book 3), while Nimrod's just... eccentric? (Guy's gotta know that firetruck-red clothes make him somewhat stand out). If it ever came up between them, I guess Iblis's reaction would be "Yeah, you look weird, so? I thought that's what you were aiming at."

**24. **I like to imagine that Iblis secretly has some totally adorkable talent, like he's really good at drawing or baking cookies or playing the piano or what have you, but he never tells anyone about it because _he's that evil guy ok and that's all the world needs to know_

**25**. Pretty much everyone in the CotL universe could use a therapist. There should REALLY BE a therapist there somewhere, because everyone's a bunch of unsolved problems, both villains AND good guys

**26**. Guys, this just in: I discovered that there's an Elgar piece called "Nimrod", and it's sorta cute! And now, as the Iblis-playing-piano-headcanon (loosely based on book 3) has already gotten stuck in my brain, I want him to play this on the piano, maybe before a confrontation with Nimrod, and Nimrod walks in on him and listens and as he recognizes the song he tears up a little^^

By the way, Nimrod and Iblis don't only have theme songs, noooo, they have a whole Spotify playlist that yours truly is currently assembling...


	10. Survivor's Guilt

**I think I have every reason to call this a darkfic. It's about a different, worst-case-outcome of book 4, where Iblis won and Nimrod died. Sorry for the sadness... and also the violence, major character death, apocalyptic scenarios, suicide, and the author generally being an asshole... and pretty much pulling a George R. R. Martin...  
**

**Also, sorry for the Shakespeare quotes, I don't know what came over me...**

* * *

It happened. He has won. For the first time in forever, Nimrod wasn't able to stop him. And now, he has changed the nature of the entire universe.

When he turns the jade pyramid upside down, inflicting an Enantodromian binding on all existence while Nimrod and the twins are watching helplessly, Iblis is elated and happy and drunk on his absolute power. Watching his terracotta warriors brutally murder his enemies at his command is even better. Evil makes you high, it really does, and it's the greatest feeling of the world, blowing out the flame of a life, _out, out brief candle_. It's the main reason why Iblis is doing it.

Alone with the dead bodies of his enemies, millions of dead children and an apocalypse on his conscience, Iblis laughs and laughs and doesn't stop until Rudyard taps him on the shoulder and asks him to because "Dad, you sound deranged and it's creeping me out".

Only several days later, he asks himself: What now?

Yes, what now...? Bad luck has triumphed over good forever. He only now understands that he has just now ended the war of the djinn tribes, rendering all evil djinn utterly useless. Their only purpose has been bringing bad luck to mundanes, and that's all done now. The lives of all Ifrit, Shaitan and Ghul are even more purposeless than before. And yes, that includes himself.

* * *

Meanwhile, the world turns into chaos. The millions of families all over the world who are heartbroken over the loss of their children are only the beginning. As the world experiences the full power of the Enantodromian, and every wish any mundane in the world makes turns to its exact opposite, world order as we know it ceases to exist. And we're not talking "harmless" mischief like someone wishing for coffee and getting tea. Not that things like this are not extremely troublesome and confusing for the poor, unassuming humans. It gets dangerous when someone wishes for coffee and receives rat poison – an Enantodromian wish is pretty unpredictable. But the people with greater, existential wishes, the people who wish for world peace or a long life, the people who say "I wish my terminally ill mother would get better", the people in third-world-countries wishing for access to more food, clean water and medical care, they are the real losers.

Resources are dwindling. Wars and plagues are breaking out. People are dropping dead by the thousands. The third-world-countries are first, with the developed world soon to follow. Humanity lives in fear.

There's nothing much the good djinn (those who are left) can do. And even if she could do something, Layla Gaunt would probably not. With her two beloved kids and her little brother dead... she is broken. They say she might have lost her djinn powers over the shock. And as the world slowly turns into a post-apocalyptic wasteland, no help comes from the Marid. Every one of them who attempts to save whatever they can choke on their helplessness, for no one can remove the binding. And still the man who is the cause of all this can cross a street in Vegas relatively unmolested.

I say_ relatively_ because the situation in Las Vegas is just as dire as anywhere else. All the gangs and shady mafia organizations of the city have risen to the surface, fighting each other over money and resources. The Ifrit can't maintain control, even with their djinn powers. And while nobody molests Iblis, all his sons are involved in street wars.

Iblis feels his genius plan backfire on him, and spectacularly. He looks out of his window at the mundanes killing each other in the streets, sees Sin City turn into a hellhole, and feels useless and weary. This is not how it's supposed to go. He has won, for hell's sake, he should rejoice, but he doesn't.

He spends most of his time reading. _The complete works of William Shakespeare. _Right now, he's at _Othello_. The setting has nothing in common with his situation whatsoever, which is highly welcome. But as Othello, having smothered Desdemona in her bed, says _Methinks it must be now a great eclipse_, he puts the book down. "A great eclipse" he mutters to himself and sighs, burying his head in his hands.

He doesn't know why, but this is when he makes the decision to visit Nimrod's grave.

* * *

So Iblis goes to London, seeks out the cemetery where they lay his old enemy down to his last rest. He finds the headstone, a simple thing with Nimrod's name in gold on it, totally unbecoming of Nimrod and his eccentric one-of-a-kind personality, his great soul. Someone – probably Layla – has left a bouquet of wilting red peony, Nimrod's favorite, a long time ago. Iblis stands before the grave and wonders what he's doing here. Nimrod wouldn't have liked this arrangement, that's for sure. He would have preferred a sea burial. He said that once. It's strange, the things he remembers about Nimrod.

He kneels down and retraces the letters. He has a feeling that he should say something. You do that in moments like this. What would Nimrod like to hear from him?

"I'm sorry" he says. "Really. I messed up and I'm sorry. I wish-"he bites his tongue in the last moment and corrects himself: "I know none of this should have happened. So there. I said it. Sorry. That's what you always wanted, right?"

But of course none of this is anything close to what Nimrod always wanted. Nimrod wanted to save him, preferably before something like this happened. Nimrod wanted to take him home. Nimrod wanted to spread good luck. And, above all else, Nimrod probably didn't want to die like this.

And then he knows why he had to come here, knows why _Othello_ of all things reminded him of the Marid he's been fighting for the best part of his life. Because he knows that Marid loved him, with all his giant stupid heart, despite all, loved him. Because Nimrod, in a sense, has been his Desdemona, the only pure thing in this fucked up life that could have been his, _that loved him_, and that he killed. "I'm sorry" he whispers once more, and knows Nimrod would have been delighted to hear that, if he only could. But he can't, anymore ever, and it's all his fault. He leans his back against the headstone and lets the wind wash a few stray drops of rain in his face. They almost feel like tears, but Iblis has forgotten how to cry a long time ago.

There's a mundane family at another grave nearby, he can overhear their praying. They're wishing their "dear departed" were with them in these "dark times". Iblis wonders what the Enantodromian binding will make of _that_. Probably a zombie apocalypse, he thinks bitterly.

* * *

He returns to Vegas, where his Ifrit await him with two more corpses. And not just any two corpses, no. _Jonathon and Rudyard. _Two of his sons he was supposed to protect. Murdered.

The regret tastes strange and bitter. He hadn't even told them to stay safe, or a word of goodbye. They have fought out there in the streets, and he wasn't there. Because he's just about the worst father ever.

Only now he remembers Dybbuk, poor Dybbuk. He doesn't even know where he is right now. Probably also dead already, what without his djinn powers.

That night he remembers how to cry.

* * *

He doesn't leave his apartment much in the following days. For the first time in his life, Iblis is genuinely, painfully sorry for his sins. He has won, but he has lost. And the only person he could have gone to, who could have somehow made it better, is dead because he killed him. He feels like dirt. The face in his bathroom mirror starts to look disgusting. One day, he seeks refuge in Shakespeare again, _Macbeth_ this time. _Out, out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow..._

He yells and throws the book against the wall.

_A poor player that struts and frets..._

He picks up drinking again.

_...his hour upon stage, and then is heard no more..._

But he's stone cold sober the day he gets a razor and cuts into his left wrist, a deep, precise cut.

_It is a tale told by an idiot..._

Because even if their plans succeed, villains don't get happy endings.

_...full of sound and fury..._

Feeling more calm and collected than he did in a long time, he watches the blood droop out of his wrist, forming a slow growing puddle on the floor as his vision blurs and he's getting increasingly sleepy.

_...signifying nothing._

This doesn't feel so bad after all.

* * *

**I'm sorry! You'll get something funny next week, I promise! **


End file.
